For the Republic
by Karasai
Summary: Life in the Imperial Guard has brought countless misery and fear. During a trying time, a surviving member of a squad of Harakoni Warhawks makes the ultimate decision leading towards martyrdom. Thinking that his life is over, he soon discovers that he is not yet done. In fact, his journey has only just begun. Yet tragedy and hardship awaits him in the most pure of forms.


**Prologue**

His breath was labored as he rushed through another corridor as shouting had reached down the line. The vox was down since the communication towers had been struck by artillery fire because of an incompetent commander. Regardless, he was rushing through the empty and poorly lit hall of a hab complex. The accompanied sound of boots clacking on the ground notified him of his squad mates right behind him. As he entered a bridge which linked the two buildings together, he could hear the shouting and stub pistols going off. "Friendlies approaching at your six!"

One of the Guardsmen turns and gestures with a thumbs up towards the newly arrived support, already he had raised his rifle as he slid onto the ground. His hellgun leveled and already firing. A stream of las burst from his weapon, peppering the barricade that the enemy had decided to build. "Thank the Emperor you guys got here quick, we can't move out of this bridge and that nutter of a commander wants us to call down another artillery strike."

"Because that worked so well." He commented back at the Guardsman, looking at him for a brief moment before a stream of stubber fire spilled into the hallway. He sat down on the ground behind an overturned slab of metal, his back pressed against the metal slab, he turned his attention towards the guardsmen who had spoken before. "Well, if we have to pull back, I figure we should do just that. If that moron is more than content in wasting rounds on buildings we can easily clear out."

"I'd agree sir, but I don't know about reclaiming this block. They're dug in pretty fraggin' deep." The Guardsmen commented quietly and never once did he look away from the man as they spoke. It wasn't until the stubber fire stopped that he leaned out of cover and opened fire. "But it's whatever you say."

As his hellgun peppered the barricade, he decided to lift himself up and rush towards another piece of cover. His boots carried him quickly while his squad-mates opened fire and laid down suppressing fire while he dove under another piece of cover. Prying one of his grenades from his belt, he threw it down the range and waited for the inevitable explosion. A thump later, he rolled out of cover and leaped over the barricade as he leveled his hellgun and gunned down what unarmored targets there were.

The Cultists cried as their bodies were struck with his las rounds, crumpling over like useless sacks of meat. He slowly moved into the hall and pressed his back against the wall as he came upon an open door. There were roughly seven more cultists lingering inside and he waited for his squad-mates to form up on him. Getting into position, they set shaped charges onto the wall. He and his squad backed away and detonated the charges and spilled into the newly made hole they had made. Their work was systematic. A routine which was drilled into their minds during basic training.

"Clear!" He shouted as he looked at the recently deceased and turned his attention towards one of the nearby windows. He could spot their armor in the streets below as the thumping of their heavy bolters had laid covering fire for squads outside. He muttered a silent prayer to the Emperor as he turned his attention to the squad he had picked up along the way. "Alright, we've been working on clearing out these habs all day and I know it gets boring, but remember, this is good work for us. Rather be here than in those damn streets."

"Ave Imperator to that, Sergeant." One of them said, flashing a dirt covered smile as she offered a mocking salute. A joke which was rather integral within their squad, he being their squad-leader and he being the one to accompany all of them through a career throughout the Imperial Guard... it was hard not to see them as family. "Let's hope they don't call down artillery onto our heads!"

It was funny, after all those years, he knew and loved them. He had come to know all of their stories, their interests. They were all odd in some way, but he knew that eventually they'd get an assignment that'd mean the end of them all. As they laughed, they could hear the whistling shells which sailed over the building they occupied. The windows and floor shook as impacts were but the heralds of distant artillery impacts. His attention had settled on them for a moment too long, as he turned his attention back towards the street he saw a blackened predator adorned with spikes with its turret turned towards them. The barrel level.

"Get do-" Was all he was able to get out as a hailstorm of bolt and auto cannon shells pierced into the room, ripping into the walls, the floor and tearing apart the squad he had worked with for such a long time. He however, had leaped away from the window, bringing him to the far edge of the room as scrambled across the floor. He soon scrambled into the hallway and turned to look at a group of advancing cultists. "Oh Throne..."

He quickly raised his hellgun and opened fire, the lances of las energy piercing through the hall and striking multiple targets. They in turn opened fire as he scrambled for the closest piece of cover. While projectiles snapped over his head he moved as quickly as he could, diving behind the closest patch of cover and focused his thoughts inwardly. There would be time to check for survivors, but he would have to make sure he got out of this alive. For him, for his squad.

His heart raced and his breath quickened as his own emotions were raging about. On the surface, none could tell that the anxiety within his mind was through the roof. That his heart was nearly in his throat so to speak. He took another moment, closing his eyes as he heard the shouting of his fellow soldiers as they reorganized against this counter assault. He waited for a few more moments before he leaned out of cover, blind firing his hellgun. He didn't let go of the trigger as he pulled a canister grenade from his belt and threw it down the hallway. As smoke dispersed into the narrow hall, he heard the shouting of another voice among the guardsmen down on the street. A shout which he was all too familiar with.

"PSYKER!"

The warning was quickly followed by the putrid scent of warp-stink. A name which he called the smell of crackling energy he had fought against so often. It was a metallic smell that mirrored blood. Regardless, he steeled his mind. Muttering a gentle prayer beneath his breath he found himself calmed and he raised himself out of cover. With hellgun leveled, he picked his targets, illuminated through his helm's lenses and opened fire.

He could feel the warp pressing itself into the surrounding area. It had spilled into the surrounding area like noxious gas and now he roared out a litany to ward his mind and soul against it's madness. Already he could feel the whispers of daemons upon him, a foe he had faced before and a foe he dread more than any enenmy. Still, he pressed onward as he had stepped over the body of a dead cultist and continued to let loose the torrent of las fire down the hall. It wasn't until finally he heard the crackling of his vox did he break from his trance. As he gunned down the final cultist, he turned his attention towards the opposite as he found the bodies of his fellow soldiers strewn about.

He lowered his profile and made it back towards the bridge he had used to get into the hab. Stepping over the barricade, he turned his attention towards one of the many windows. Peering outwards, his gaze was directed low, onto the streets. He saw the dead in the streets while the chaos afflicted psyker stood in the middle of the street, back by an intersection. It was surrounded by the bodies of the fallen who had tried to claim it, guardsmen strewn throughout the street while the armor which had been there seemed to have been pried open. Among this psyker there were several forms of Astartes adorned in hellish battle-plate. They were marked with Chaos Undivided.

His eyes drank in the sight for a moment more before he slumped onto the floor and closed his eyes. The vox had exploded with activity and he knew the only way to rid themselves of this creature and its companions. He shut all external sound from his helm and spoke, thankful he had a fully enclosed helmet. "Imperial Command, this is Sergeant John Harkon, I'm behind enemy lines in city block Four-One-Five-Six-Seven west. I'm requesting artillery fire on... my position. I repeat, I am requesting fire on my position." He pauses, speaking only a second afterwards. "There is concentrated Heretic armor, along with... Traitor Space marines and a powerful psyker."

There was a moment of silence before a message had pierced through the vox, to him, it was among one of the loudest things he had ever heard in his life. His heart raced and his blood ran cold when he heard the grim confirmation belonging not to that of a Guardsmen, but of a Space Marine. He'd know that vox distortion anywhere. "Sergeant Harkon, this is Sergeant Brechten of the Imperial Fists. Imperial Command is in disarray, but your request is heard and granted. May you walk in his light should you not survive the bombardment. I shall remember your name for all eternity for your service."

"Thank you Lord Brechten, win this battle. Win it so our deaths matter." With that, John had cut all communications as he closed his eyes and heard mechanical footsteps belonging to that of men in Astartes plate. He held his weapon firmly in his hand and spoke a prayer of death. He muttered it upon his lips as he gripped his weapon tight. As he heard the first of the bombardment shells smack into the ground, he spoke a single word as his world became light, shrapnel and the immaterium. "Praise the Emperor and strike down His foes."


End file.
